


The ABC's of An Eighth Year Education

by crystymre



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28799877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystymre/pseuds/crystymre
Summary: So I got drunk and wrote this on NYE. Really it's a semi-connected string of drabbles, spanning over Draco and Hermione's eighth year together. Idk, champagne gives me the warm fuzzies.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 166





	The ABC's of An Eighth Year Education

**Author's Note:**

> So I got drunk and wrote this on NYE. Really it's a semi-connected string of drabbles, spanning over Draco and Hermione's eighth year together. Idk, champagne gives me the warm fuzzies.

✣ ✣ ✣

**A** was for the apology letter delivered by Narcissa’s owl. Fears of being too little too late were twined through gratuitous thank you’s and notes of regret. More eloquently written than anything Hermione had ever read, it left little room for dishonesty or misinterpretation, going into explicit details of the older witch’s transgressions. At no point did the woman plea for herself or her husband, making only a small note of how she hoped that her son could learn and change.

_ To the brightest witch that this witch has ever had the pleasure of meeting. _

* * *

**B** was for the books that accompanied the letters. Ancient tomes thought lost to the ages, never-published manuscripts from some of the brightest minds in history, and grimoires of the most beautifully complex spells and potions. Ron had voiced his opinion that it was an attempt at buying her forgiveness. Slipped between the pages of what was clearly an invaluable tome was a scrawled note detailing remedies for Cruciatus effects.

_ I doubt that you should take my word for it,  _ Draco’s quill scratches cut across the parchment.  _ Were I you, I wouldn’t. _

It occurred to Hermione that she wasn’t the only one to be on the wrong end of Bellatrix’s wand. It would take her days to sort out that none of his remedies were listed in the book, a few contradicting what ancient witches and wizards wrote.

Letting curiosity get the better of her, she caved and tried some, feeling better than she had felt in months.

* * *

**C** was for Crookshanks, who never left her side. “Shoo,” she pushed the cat away with her foot, rushing to get out of the door. She was late to the Ministry, rehearsing her series of speeches in the mirror.

“You’re seriously not going to go, are you?” Ron asked, his face dark as it had been under the influence of the locket.

“We’ve been over this,” she said with an exasperated sigh. 

He stepped toward her, pulling his hair. “You  _ see  _ what they’re doing? Bribing you? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one?”

“Please don’t,” she pleaded, charming her coat to her.

“They  _ tortured  _ you, Mione! Or did you forget about that bloody scar on your arm?” Crookshanks leapt, aiming for Ron’s face. “Damn cat!”

Quickly grabbing the furious feline, Hermione stepped back, nuzzling the giant ball of fur. “I think you should go, Ronald.”

“So that’s it then? You’re gonna side with the  _ Malfoy’s  _ and not your own damn boyfriend?”

She and Ron broke up a week later, Hermione moving into Grimmauld for the remainder of the summer.

* * *

**D** was for Draco. Or rather the look on his face when Hermione crossed paths with him. 

“Miss Granger?” Hermione turned to find a smiling Narcissa-now-Black approaching her. “How fantastic to see you here.”

“Mrs. Malfoy,” she stammered, caught off guard at how polite the woman was being. “Er— sorry. Ms. Black?” She remembered seeing the headlines; Draco named head of the Malfoy Estate once his probation and education were complete.

“No worries.” The woman smiled, her expression warm and genuine. “School shopping, I see?” She motioned toward Flourish and Blotts.

“Eighth year,” Hermione offered an awkward smile.

“Quite right. Draco, don’t be rude.” Narcissa flagged down her son, who was thoroughly engrossed in his book.

He looked up, blinking twice before snapping the spine shut. He stepped toward the women, swallowing thickly. If there had been any doubt that he shared his mother’s apologetic sentiments, the storm behind his silver eyes cast them away. “Granger,” he said politely.

“Malfoy.”

“Be a dear and carry her books. I’ll go on ahead and collect your new robes.”

Wordlessly Draco charmed her books over toward him, adding hers to his stack. “Promise to not slip a cursed diary in,” he smirked, quickly composing himself as he realized what he had said.

Hermione laughed despite herself, the sound startling him. “No, that’s good. That’s funny.”

He shook his head, thinking he had misstepped. “I didn’t mean—”

“You  _ do  _ know it was a Horcrux, right?” she asked, trying to control her laughter. “Nearly killed Ginny.”

A blond brow rose, unsure what to make of her reaction. “And you find this funny?”

“Retrospectively, yes.”

“Twisted, Granger.”

“Wasn’t it all?” She smiled, a weight lifted.

* * *

**E** was for the first evening back at Hogwarts. While kept in their respective houses, the eighth years were meant to sit together, the twenty that returned to act as an example of house unity. Neither Harry nor Ron returned, Hermione sitting between the Patil twins and Neville. 

The Slytherin tables had never been quite as quiet, the air heavy with a general disdain for anyone in green. It was as Headmistress McGonagall had feared, the intrinsic hatred for what their parents had done.

Named Head Girl, it was on Hermione to ensure that no first-year stragglers got lost their first night, waiting for the Great Hall to clear out before bedtime. On the third-floor corridor, she found the lone Slytherin girl, cornered by a handful of second-year Gryffindors.

“Were I you, I’d leave now.” A boy Hermione didn’t recognize spoke, his prepubescent voice cracking.

“Should have abolished the entire house,” a different girl sneered.

The Slytherin girl pleaded. “Please—” 

“Person ought to know their place now. Worlds changed. Your family doesn’t mean shite—”

“That’s enough.” Hermione cut in, realizing things would be worse than she or Minerva had thought.

The children jumped, paling at the sight of her. “We were just—”

“Twenty points apiece from Gryffindor.”

“But—!”

“To bed, all of you.”

The three Gryffindors hung their heads, Hermione quickly reminded of when it was her and her best friends in trouble. Of course, they hadn’t been bullying anyone. Rather, they were the ones  _ being  _ bullied.

How quickly things had changed.

“MacNair!” Hermione turned to find Draco stepping into the corridor, worry written on his face. “There you are.”

“Lost one of your first years, Perfect Malfoy?” Hermione couldn’t help herself.

“She had  _ been  _ with the group. Must have gotten,” Draco’s eyes darted to the Gryffindors, “distracted,” he drawled in a tone eerily reminiscent of their late Potions Professor.

Hermione could see the fear in the second year’s eyes, telling her that the encounter was likely to be a one-off. “I believe I told all of you to get to bed?” The children scrambled, steering clear of Draco.

“Come along, MacNair,” Draco said, not unkindly. “Granger.” He nodded in the way only societal training could demand, eyes lit by the torches along the corridor.

* * *

**F** was for finding him alone. A feat in and of itself with their school work and additional duties. Sitting by himself at the eighth year table, he studied, biting into an apple unbothered. Hermione had only meant to come in and steal a pumpkin pasty, having spent entirely too long in the library.

Her shoe scuffed the floor, causing his head to snap up. “Bit past curfew, isn’t it?”

“I could ask you the same.”

Draco smirked. “You take Fang this time, yeah?”

Hermione broke into laughter. “Forrest really isn’t so bad. Should probably visit Gwarp soon.”

“The hell is a Gwarp? Another screwball acronym for a new cause you’re on?”

“Gwarp is Hagrid’s brother,” she explained. “He’s a giant.”

“Going to need an awful lot of yarn for  _ that  _ then.”

“Suppose I will.” Grabbing her treat, she took a bite, hiding her smile from him before turning on her heel to leave.

* * *

**G** was for gigantic. That was to say Draco had finally hit his growth spurt. Having otherwise been preoccupied, she hadn’t taken the time to notice just how tall he’d become. His  _ jaw  _ she had made a mental note of. The way he had grown into his pointy features hadn’t gone unnoticed, either. Never closer than an arm’s length, and given her proportionally short legs, she simply hadn’t realized just how tall he’d become. It wasn’t until she had to crane her neck up in potions that she gave it any thought.

“Merlin,” Ginny whispered beside her, eyes caught on the blond as he sat beside his friends at the next table over. “Person ought to climb that.”

“Ginny!” Hermione scolded, smacking at her.

“He’s quite fit now, innt he?” Ginny asked idly. “Though, I suppose even when he was being a right git, he was still fairly fine.”

“Don’t let Ron hear you say that,” she said, pulling out her quill. Despite their heated breakup, Ron had sent more than one owl since Hermione returned to Hogwarts. The letters had ranged from regret to understanding, each signed with something hopeful trying to mend what he had broken.

“Ron’s a bloke,” the redhead countered pointedly. “I mean truly, just up and out with that one.” She pointed at Draco. “Blaise too.” Ginny bit her lip, waving subtly as the man in question looked back at her.

“You’re terrible.” Hermione rolled her eyes, keenly aware that Draco was staring her way as well. 

“And you’re blind,” Ginny laughed.

* * *

**H** was for help. As the months grew colder, her nightmares came back, the itching on her arm more prevalent than ever. While the exercises for the effects of Cruciartus had been helping, there was little to be done about the irreversible scar. Thankful for the early cold snap, she found herself in heavy sweaters, disguising what she so desperately wanted to be rid of.

The scratching was subtle at first but quickly became a subconscious hyper fixation, to the point that it began to fester. Madam Pomfrey did all that she could to combat the infection, but Hermione was certain that until she could find a way to cope with the trauma of her torture, she would continue to pick at it.

The night after her trip to the hospital wing, a tonic appeared on her nightstand, Draco’s impeccable handwriting on a note beneath it.

_ Take before bed. It’ll help with the nightmares. _

* * *

**I** was for imagination. Hermione was fairly certain hers had gotten away from her. It made sense that Draco should be everywhere she was as they had the same course schedule. With her being Head Girl and him being a Slytherin Prefect, their time outside of classes was often spent in and around each other; a fact that the Headmistress would later admit was deliberate. Regardless, Hermione couldn’t help but feel that Draco was  _ watching  _ her.

She had sent him a note, thanking him for the tonic. Whatever it was he’d brewed for her had a touch of Dreamless Sleep and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Either way, she hadn’t heard Bellatrix’s piercing cackle in weeks.

Halloween night, she found herself sitting beside him during the holiday feast, their legs touching beneath the table. She assured herself more than once that it was a matter of the table being over-crowded, a handful of seventh years eating with them. After the Headmistress retired for the evening, a bottle of firewhisky made its rounds, winding up in Draco’s grasp.

He inclined the bottle toward her with a questioning glance. “I shouldn’t.” She shook her head, scrunching her nose.

“Live a little, Granger.”

“I’ve lived quite a bit lately, thank you.”

Draco smirked. “Haven’t we all? Sort of the point.”

“Fine,” she said, exhaling dramatically, holding out her glass of pumpkin juice. Draco scoffed, summoning a goblet of apple cider instead before pouring the whiskey in. “Apple?”

“Questioning my tastes?” he asked before passing the bottle to Theo on his left. Hermione shot him a dirty look before taking a drink, coughing the instant she swallowed. “Not meant to be inhaled.”

“Strong,” she wheezed, attempting to hide her embarrassment, setting the glass down.

He nudged it back toward her, taking a drink of his own. “A dark wizard can’t break that Gryffindor resolve of yours but a little firewhisky can?”

The table froze, a range of outrage and shock written across all of its occupants’ faces. Hermione, on the other hand, burst into laughter, somehow relieved that at least one person wasn’t shying away from the subject around her.

* * *

**J** was for jokes. Dry, subtle, dark jokes. All but lost on most of their peers, the decidedly disturbing quips Draco cracked offended most. However, Hermione nearly always found herself on the verge of hysterics, forcing herself to remain composed. A person shouldn’t laugh about the dark things they’d endured. She said as much through her veiled threats, biting back the smiles that threatened to expose how humorous she found them. He knew, of course, he could see it in her eyes. It’s why he kept pressing his advantage, seeing how far he could take their twisted tomfoolery.

* * *

**K** was for kiss. Their first kiss. Hermione had found him in the stacks alone during her rounds, well past curfew, entirely too far in the restricted section. She’d half a mind to report him until she saw the titles he was buried in. She wasn’t the only one with scars, that much she knew. It was for his mother, he would go on to explain as they both set the books back. Never one to offer information freely, she was grateful he had shared. With the last book slipped back into its home, he peered down at her, candlelight reflected back in the silver circlets of his eyes. Lifting his graceful hand, he tipped her chin, bending to press his lips to hers. It was sweet and unhurried, chaste and precise. A simple kiss that wasn’t meant to tease or excite but to leave a message, an indication of what was going on inside his brilliant mind. Hermione had never thought she’d be the kind of girl to find herself breathless over little more than a peck, but as he strode past to return to his dorms, she failed to breathe.

“G’night, Granger.” He waved absently over his shoulder, rounding the end of the row. Hermione could hear the smirk in his voice, the smug bastard knowing exactly what he’d done to her.

Once he was out of earshot, she gasped for breath, touching her fingers to her lips, the taste of his toothpaste lingering.

* * *

**L** was for lips. Lips she longed for, lips she craved. Lips she would find in every alcove, every classroom, and the occasional broom cupboard. Lips that would explore, taste, and tease. Lips that would come to know every inch of her body. They would smirk as she gasped, finding a spot just behind her ear that made her weak. They would snarl as she moaned, teeth nipping down the column of her neck. Hermione would have to spell away the dark bruises he’d sucked into her skin, an admittedly sexy attempt at marking her as his. She would lose track of time, watching those lips she wanted so very much move as he spoke, the words spilling from them enchanting her. More than once, she’d daydream on just what those lips could  _ do _ .

* * *

**M** was for magic. Decidedly dangerous with a wand, Draco proved to also be clever and charismatic with his charms. A single silver orchid enchanted to never wilt appeared on her nightstand, reflecting moonlight in a hauntingly ethereal manner. If she weren’t paying attention, she’d leave her House in the classic red and gold only to arrive at breakfast in silver and green; colors he was adamant she was better suited for. Perfect penmanship would take flight in the form of dragons during various classes and lectures, the deliberately devious note detailing the things he intended to do to her. 

* * *

**N** was for “none of your business.” Their automatic response whenever someone pressed them for answers on their relationship. Whether it was a random sixth year or the reporters that would stalk them at Broomsticks, both would refuse to speak on the matter. Those that needed to know, knew. While it had been a mixed bag of reactions varying from Ron’s clear displeasure to Narcissa’s unexpected elation, the only people that mattered in their lives were aware that she and Draco were  _ something _ .

* * *

**O** was for orgasm. Her first orgasm, to be specific. Back in the library where it had all started, Draco had her pressed up against the stacks, his dexterous fingers slipping beneath the soft cotton of her panties. With her lip between his teeth and his other hand at the small of her back, his fiendish fingers found their goal, a muffled mewl escaping her throat.

“Merlin, you are  _ soaked _ , Granger,” Draco smirked against her mouth, the tip of his finger tracing tight circles around her clit. “Is this all for me?”

“Shut up,” she huffed, screwing her eyes shut to avoid the embarrassment.

His voice was in her ear, low and dangerous. “Has anyone ever touched you like this?”

She shook her head.

“No one has made you cum?” It was a question as much as it was a statement. Her lack of answer told him everything he needed to know, a long finger slipping between her folds to plunge into her sex.

“Malf—” she gasped, her head falling back against the books.

“Look at me,” he growled, languidly slipping in and out of her. Hermione dared to open her eyes, meeting the blacks of his. “When I touch you like this, you  _ will  _ call me Draco.”

Hermione bit her lip, nodding fervently.

A second digit joined the first, teasing her as his thumb rolled her clit. “Say my name,” he demanded. Consumed with sensation, her mouth fell slack, Draco seizing the opportunity to kiss her again, his tongue meeting hers. “Say it.” His fingers pumped into her, curling to hit a spot that made her see stars. “I want to hear you scream my name when you cum for me, Granger.”

“Dra—” she whined, focusing on the pulsing sensation his thumb created. Her brows furrowed as she tried to breathe through it, heat spreading along the backs of her thighs.

“That’s it.” He kissed along her neck, nipping at her soft flesh. “So bloody tight. What I’d give to have your cunt strangle my cock.” Reading his lewd desires was an altogether different experience than hearing them. His filthy mouth and diligent handiwork set her on the edge. “Cum for me, Hermione.”

She shattered, never so grateful for silencing spells as she screamed out his name.

* * *

**P** was for patience. Draco was a drug for her, an addiction, a  _ need _ . Opting to spend the holidays at school, the two stole themselves away, learning just what the other liked. He’d discovered exactly how ticklish she was, taking advantage as often as possible. In turn, she learned that Draco was touch starved.

The whole of Christmas break, they were no further than arm’s length away from one another, spending the majority of their time curled up reading. Whether it was a heated debate or sheer silence, they found that they were uniquely comfortable around each other.

Draco, for his part, never pressured her. Everything was at her pace. Whether that was slowly opening up about the war or how far they would go sexually, he made it clear that he was in no rush.

* * *

**Q** was for questions. Thousands,  _ hundreds  _ of thousands, of questions. The two took up an entire table in the library, rapid-firing questions at one another as they studied. Blaise and Theo would join them on occasion, able to keep up for some time before they set up a game of Wizards Chess.

“You two were made for each other, you know that?” Blaise yawned as Hermione questioned Draco on runes. “I mean, now that you’re not trying to kill each other and whatnot.”

“Does anyone else see the supreme irony in all of this?” Theo asked. “In you two?”

“Wrong word, Nott,” Draco tisked, reaching for another book.

“I should suggest unavoidable,” Hermione said, not looking up from her parchment.

“Inescapable,” Draco countered.

“Deterministic.”

“Predestinarian. Or rather the practice of predestinarianism.”

“You two are disgusting,” Blaise cut in.

“Vexation,” Hermione said, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“Provocation.”

“Harassment is what it is,” Theo groaned. “Come on, mate. Let’s go  _ literally  _ anywhere else. Leave these swots be.”

Waiting for them to get up and go, Draco tossed down his book. “Thought they’d never leave.”

“Predestinarianism?” Hermione laughed. “Honestly?”

“If I were to say something as cliche as fated, would it convince you to meet me in the restricted section in four minutes?” Draco asked.

Hermione leaned forward, keeping her voice down. “Promise to never repeat something that trite, and I’ll lose the knickers first.”

Draco smirked. “Deal.”

* * *

**R** was for really, just  _ really  _ fantastic. Draco had caught her after potions class, falling to his knees before her while she sat on his desk. They’d only meant to have a quick snog, but one thing led to another, and before she knew it, he was showing her just how wicked his tongue could be.

She hadn’t been even slightly embarrassed when she came on his tongue.

* * *

**S** was for size. Grateful that Draco was a giver, Hermione found herself in a position to return the favor. Falling to her knees, she freed him of his trousers, a series of spells disguising their illicit activities in the Quidditch stands while protecting them from the winter winds.

“Granger,” he exhaled, his breath fogging the air.

She peered up at him, her warmed hand wrapping around his length. “Yes?”

“You don’t have t—” He was silenced with her tongue tracing his tip, circling his head before sucking him in between her lips. “Fuck.”

* * *

**T** was for therapy. Their own found brand of it. A deliciously sinful variation that neither could get enough of. Library, classrooms, alcoves, quidditch pitch… anywhere and everywhere that they could find a moment alone. While he still hadn’t pushed for more than she could give, they fully exploited everything in between.

* * *

**U** was for unspoken. Words unspoken. Years spent growing up together, a war fought on opposite sides, the two both realized that their  _ something  _ had become more than that. A simple kiss had flourished into constant companionship, their physical and intellectual needs met. At times they lost themselves so completely to the other that the war was little more than an echo.

The realization that she had fallen for Draco had hit her over breakfast, the man doing little more than offering her a piece of toast. It had been the look on his face. Completely ordinary, that Draco could  _ ever  _ be plain, the look in his eyes spoke volumes. 

* * *

**V** was for virginity. Having a lie-in, the two were curled up in her small bed, the early Saturday sunlight streaming in through her stained-glass windows. Draco sat upright against her headboard, reading her copy of The Sound and the Fury while she used his lap as a pillow to study.

With their N.E.W.T’s less than a week away, she had worked herself up into a fit of anxiousness, Draco assuring her that she had  _ overstudied _ at this point.

By the time the runes all started to swim together, Hermione knew she’d had enough. Closing her book, it occurred to her that Draco had been stroking her hair absentmindedly, Vivaldi playing quietly in the background. It was as close to perfection as she could ever hope to have.

Setting her book aside, she made a long-overdue decision, sitting up to pull herself onto his lap. “Draco?”

“Hm?”

“I’m ready.”

“For the tests? I should think so. Surprised your brain hasn’t overheated yet. Though, I’m quite positive I saw steam coming out of your ear earlier.”

Hermione smiled, shifting her hips on top of him. “No, Draco. I’m  _ ready.” _

He looked at her, brows furrowed in confusion. Before he could ask the question written on his face, she kissed him, tasting his toothpaste and tea. Their movements were slow and sensuous, the pair lazily taking their time. Stripped of all clothing, Draco lay over top of her, kissing her gently as he cast the contraceptive charm.

“Are you sure?” he asked one last time, more than patient with her.

Hermione nodded, her breath shallow in anticipation. She knew what to expect, had been told stories by the girls in her House. Still, though, the practical application of the things she studied always proved slightly different from what she expected.

This was no exception.

Draco pushed into her with ease, their foreplay loosening her up to accommodate his size. “Does it—?”

She shook her head. “It’s fine.” Immediately regretting her choice of words, he arched a brow at her, causing her to laugh. Releasing the tension, he slipped in the rest of the way, swallowing her mirth in a searing kiss. “Oh,” she exhaled.

He gave her time to adjust, kissing along her neck and collarbone before she told him to move. Her discomfort was quickly replaced by her needs and wants, his fingers having only  _ teased  _ the possibilities. Draco took his time with her, following her instruction until she could feel the heat she craved blossoming deep in her core.

Hermione knew that orgasm wasn’t  _ impossible  _ the first time, just highly unlikely. Fortunately for her, Draco, like herself, was nothing if not an overachiever. Defying her expectations, he brought her to climax twice before seeking his own release, the two collapsing in a sweaty heap as midday neared.

“I love you, Granger,” Draco said once he caught his breath. It wasn’t an afterthought or a formality. It was him telling her what she already knew.

Habitually she said, “I know.”

Draco laughed, exhausted. “Of course you do.” He pulled her to him, her head resting on the soft of his shoulder.

“Draco?”

“Hm?”

“I love you too.”

“Of course you do.”

* * *

**W** was for waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Hermione was quite convinced that their test results for the N.E.W.T’s had to have been intercepted and destroyed, which was the only logical reason why it had taken  _ three weeks  _ to receive the owl. Over lunch, she read through Harry and Ron’s letters in a desperate attempt to distract herself when the Ministry owls flooded the Great Hall; seventh and eighth-year students alike  _ finally  _ receiving their results.

Hermione held the envelope in her hand far longer than anyone else, simply staring at it.

“You’ll have to open it eventually,” Draco said, looking up from his own scores.

“What’d you get?” she asked, trying to peer over to his parchment. Draco pulled his results close to his chest, swatting her away. “Trade?”

“I already  _ know  _ my scores, Granger,” he teased. “Tell you what. Show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”

“Gross,” Blaise and Theo said in unison.

“Fine.” Hermione inhaled, lifting the seal on the envelope. Closing her eyes, she counted to three before pulling the parchment out,  _ screaming  _ when she saw the letters next to each course. Jolting up so abruptly she jostled the table she screamed again.

“Dreadful?” Theo asked.

“Troll?” Blaise chimed in with a laugh.

Draco snagged the results from her hand, a smug look washing over his face.

“Oh, Merlin, did she get an  _ Acceptable?” _

Draco stood, pulling Hermione into a hug. “Proud of you,” he said, kissing the top of her head. 

Blaise sprung up, snatching the results from Draco’s hand. “Outstandings across the board.”

“Did we have any doubt?” Theo asked, rolling his eyes.

Blaise then took Draco’s sheet before tossing them both down. “What a couple of swots,” he scoffed, standing to leave.

* * *

**X** was for Xenophilius and his daughter Luna. In her own brand of therapeutic release, Luna had taken up drawing. Whether it was the Great Hall or in classes, Luna was never seen without her sketchbook. The Quibbler featured her sketches regularly, the fantastical creatures she saw brought to life. 

Hermione had actually kept quite a few clippings, the still arts rivaling some of the greatest Muggle artists of history. Draco had cracked his jokes, of course, but was willing to admit aloud that the Ravenclaw girl had true talent.

It came as a surprise to them when the April edition of the Quibbler arrived that they should find themselves on the cover. The piece was bleak and obscure, and quite frankly, the most beautiful thing Hermione had ever seen. Luna had managed to capture the essence of her relationship to Draco better than any synonym for fated could.

Hermione felt a tear run down her face, the first she’d cried in months, as Luna approached. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

“Mind, Looney?” Draco had taken the paper from Hermione, studying the published sketch. “It’s brilliant.”

“Lovely, Luna.” Hermione smiled, wiping her tear away. “Really. You ought to pursue this.”

She shook her head. “Just a hobby, I think. It’s only been published because my father runs the paper, you see.”

Hermione stood, pulling the blonde into a hug. “It’s beautiful, Luna. Thank you.”

Draco owled his mother the next day. Within the week, Narcissa was in talks with Luna and Xenophilius on the potential of opening a gallery, her bookclub absolutely enthralled by the art.

* * *

**Y** was for years end. An end that was fast approaching, a beginning Hermine wasn’t ready for. She’d received owls from various department heads at the beginning of the year, showing extreme interest in her following her academic pursuits. Everyone from the Head of Magical Law Enforcement to the Chair over St. Mungo’s wanted her. 

Problem was, she didn’t know what  _ she  _ wanted.

“You know you’ll exceed at whatever you do,” Draco said, sitting on her bed as she rifled through her various offers. “Just  _ choose  _ one.”

“Says the  _ Lord of Malfoy Manor,”  _ she scoffed. “Like you haven’t got a pile of positions in those unopened envelopes.”

“Right. But I  _ know  _ what I intend to do.”

“You just want to go be a thorn in Harry’s side,” she smiled, happy that her boyfriend and best friend were finally getting along; Harry having suggested Draco was well suited to being an Auror.

“What can I say? It was  _ fated.” _

Hermione smacked at him with a thicker piece of parchment. “Seriously!” she cried. “What am I going to do?”

“Maybe,” Draco shoved all of the letters to the floor, crawling over top of her. “You’re not aiming high enough?”

“I was offered a career in every imaginable field there is,” she laughed, laying back as he kissed along her neck.

“Yes, but  _ you’re  _ Hermione Granger. Outstandings across the board—”

“You got the same marks as me!”

“Golden Girl and war heroine to boot.”

“Your point?”

“Aim. Higher,” he said between kisses.

And that was precisely what she would do.

* * *

**Z** was for Zambini. Brilliant Blaise Zambini, who, in his brilliance, came up with the simplest of solutions staring her right in the face.

“Granger?” Blaise folded down his paper, staring at her pointedly across the table. “Says here you’ve accepted an internship with your old pal Kingsley.”

“I have,” she answered, not looking up from her book.

“I’m assuming you know that Malfoy has taken a position with Magical Law Enforcement.”

“I do.”

“Coincidentally  _ both  _ of those career paths land you  _ at  _ the Ministry—”

Hermione looked up from her book, a dark brow arched. “Is there a point to this?” she asked with a faint smile.

“Might be practical, dare I say economical, if you two were to share a flat close by. Think of the time saved.”

“Yes, because the two things that worry Draco most are finances and excessive floo use,” she deadpanned.

“He  _ hates  _ the floo.” Theo looked up from his breakfast. “Too dusty. Isn’t that right?”

“Isn’t what right?” Draco spoke from behind her, taking his seat to grab an apple.

“Floos: too dusty.”

“Quite so,” Draco concurred.

“See?” Blaise insisted, making a face at her.

“What have I missed?” Draco asked, taking a bite.

“Blaise is trying to convince me of the  _ practicality  _ of us sharing a flat near the Ministry.”

His blond brow arched. “Is he?”

“Said it would be economical.”

“Hardly doubt that renting a flat so close by would be cheap,” Draco began.

“Exactly,” she motioned toward him while staring down Blaise.

“That’s why I’ve bought one.”

She paused, turning back to him. “You what?”

“Quaint by my standards,” he continued. “Four bedrooms, three bath.”

“Yes, quaint,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

“Though I suspect that we should turn one room into a library.”

“Your  _ quaint  _ flat didn’t come with one?” Hermione asked with a laugh.

“We’ll turn another into a closet.”

“You do own far too many clothes,” Theo agreed.

“Mmm,” Blaise pointed his fork at them. “Potions lab in the last.”

Draco nodded. “Right. Yes, of course.”

“Hope you’ve practiced up on your extendable,” Theo smiled. “Amount of books you two have would fill Alexandria.”

“Already taken care of.”

“Wait,” Hermione halted the conversation. “The books the  _ two _ of us have?”

“An asinine amount,” Blaise smirked.

“A surreal supply,” Theo concurred.

“One could say they have an astonishing array—”

“Draco?” Hermione ignored them. 

“The fact that she hasn’t pieced this together yet is astounding.” Theo dropped his fork dramatically. “Honestly. Brightest witch of our age? I think not.”

“It’s the cock.” Blaise smirked. “Quite distracting.”

Hermione regarded him for half a second before setting her sights back on the man beside her. “Draco?”

He leaned forward, regarding her with a smug smirk. “They might be onto something.”

“Are you—?”

“Yes, Granger. This is a very poor way of going about it, but this is officially me asking you to move in after graduation.”

“I—” she froze.

“Bloke buys a woman a flat, and she can’t even come up with the words to thank him,” Blaise scoffed.

Theo shook his head in false shame. “Even had the place decorated—”

“Would you two stop?” Draco snapped at his friends. “Granger?”

“Malfoy?”

“Care to move in with me?”

“You want me to move in with you?” Hermione asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” he answered simply.

“You’ve already bought a flat—”

“And decorated,” Theo chimed with a saucy tone.

“Yes, yes. All of that,” Draco’s irritation was mounting. “Even had the paint crew ensure some of your ghastly reds and golds made it into the color scheme.”

“Clashes terribly with the  _ Prince of Darkness  _ aesthetic.” Blaise grinned.

“You want  _ me _ to move in with  _ you _ ?” she repeated slowly.

“For the love of Morgana. Yes, Granger.”

“I come with a cat.”

“I should say,” Theo laughed, earning an apple core upside the head.

“And books,” she continued.

“Hence the library.” Draco noted with an amused smile.

“You want this? Us? Living together?” 

“It’s gonna take you a better part of a month to propose to this one, mate,” Blaise said, making a face.

“We will have died of old age by the time she makes it down the aisle,” Theo added. 

“What do you say?” Draco asked, hope lurking just behind his eyes.

“Yes,” she squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck before kissing him.

“Thank Merlin, that’s dealt with,” Theo pushed away from the table. “Like pulling teeth with these two.”


End file.
